


you give me shelter

by SyntheticRevenge



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, accidental beholding, but like hurt/comfort that involves some well-intentioned yelling, post-160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyntheticRevenge/pseuds/SyntheticRevenge
Summary: Martin sighs, sadly, a sound Jon’s heard so many times in the last few days it’s nearly become white noise. “I miss...I miss the world,” he says, his voice so small and distant it’s like they’re back in the Lonely, and Jon’s throat swells shut.(Jon and Martin have a talk after the apocalypse)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 8
Kudos: 227





	you give me shelter

**Author's Note:**

> I was determined to write jonmartin angst and because they're, y'know, them, it got soft. Hope y'all enjoy. Title's from Shelter by Broken Bells (pretty solid jonmartin song).

Jon’s scars are a neon, capital letter sign that says  _ Welcome, Higher Powers, All You Cosmic Horrors of the Earth, Crawl Into My Body and Make Yourself At Home.  _ When he says that to Martin, genuinely meaning it as a joke, Martin’s face flashes sympathy, but he visibly bites it back.

“Is there a smaller sign that also says ‘free wi-fi’?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and trying to keep a straight face. 

“Mmmm, and ‘no pets’,” Jon says, absently, eyes drawn to the closed curtains, a deep itch from under his skin making his fingers twitch, making him want to rip them open and look outside. 

“D’you have a pool?” Martin asks. 

“No. No aircon, either,” Jon says. 

“You’re not getting a good TripAdvisor review from me, then, I’m sorry,” Martin says. “D’you...d’you think there’s a special Yelp for the avatars?”

“No,” Jon says, because he _ knows _ the answer and has to say it, even though he also  _ knows _ it was a stupid joke question meant to keep a light on in the darkness, and he hates himself for the slightly defeated look on Martin’s face.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Martin says, voice a little small. “Probably went under because ‘Screams of the Damned’ wasn’t as catchy a name as ‘Yelp’.”

“Not because only a few dozen people ever used it?” Jon asks.

“Can’t you let me have  _ one thing _ ?” Martin asks, and a smile twitches at his lips, but there’s still a pang of resentment in his voice.

“Sorry,” Jon says, brushing his hair behind his ear and trying to smile up at Martin. Trying not to let his head twitch towards the window again. 

Martin sighs, sadly, a sound Jon’s heard so many times in the last few days it’s nearly become white noise. “I miss...I miss the world,” he says, his voice so small and distant it’s like they’re back in the Lonely, and Jon’s throat swells shut. Self-hatred and guilt churn so violently in his stomach he thinks for a moment he might actually vomit, but it settles. 

“I do too,” Jon says, unable to look at Martin again. It comes in waves. Sometimes Martin’s the only thing in the world he ever wants to see, and sometimes he’s afraid to look, to see what he’s done to the man he loves--afraid to give anything more to the Eye than he needs to. “I’m sorry I killed it.”

“I didn’t say that--I didn’t mean to make you, y’know--” Martin sighs again, rubs his face with both hands, glasses pushed up to his forehead. “You know, I know that you--I  _ know _ this is torture for you, Jon, but I should be able--it was  _ my _ home too, and I should be able to say I miss it without...without…” He shakes his head, trailing off, hands still covering his eyes. “Never mind. I’m sorry.”

“You can say whatever you want, Martin, I’m not trying to make you feel  _ guilty _ , for Christ’s sake,” Jon snaps, grabbing a handful of his own hair and clenching, resisting the urge to pull it out and scream wordlessly and endlessly at himself and the Eye and everything fucking else. 

“Then stop apologizing,” Martin says, throwing his hands up and letting them fall back down with a dull thwack. “Because we both know I don’t blame you. This is fucking Elias-- _ Jonah _ , whatever--it’s  _ his _ fault, not yours, and I’m not going to blame you no matter how much you apologize, and it just makes me feel bad for having fucking  _ feelings _ about surviving the apocalypse. Okay?”

“O--okay,” Jon says, staring at Martin, startled by the outburst. “Martin, I’m--”

“Do  _ not _ say you’re sorry,” Martin says, meeting his eyes and holding them. “I love you, and there is  _ nothing _ to be sorry for.”

Jon opens his mouth, trying to find words, but nothing comes out. There is everything in the world to be sorry for. Martin’s not an idiot, he’s just blinded by--love.  _ Love _ , for the monster that ended the fucking world. They both must know it’s Jon’s fault, of  _ course _ it’s Jon’s fault. Sure Elias-- _ Jonah _ \--pulled the strings, but Jon was the fucking puppet who danced along and went through the motions.

“I--” he starts, but just shakes his head. 

“You’re allowed to say you love me too, I won’t yell at you for that,” Martin says, taking a deep breath and attempting to smile at Jon. It comes out shaky.

“I love you too,” Jon says, and Martin takes his hand and squeezes it. “I’m--not... _ sorry _ , but...I wish there was still a world for us. I wish--I wish you could sleep peacefully, and make tea and...and talk to the cows, and...”

“It’s okay, Jon,” Martin says, voice choked. “You don’t...you don’t have to do that.”

The Eye stares straight into Martin, and Jon tries to wrench it shut, to let Martin have his privacy. But he’s not strong enough, and he  _ knows  _ about the time Martin hid in a closet for two days as a child to see if his mother would even notice, and his heart skips a beat and sinks. He squeezes Martin’s hand back, tight. The loneliness, the isolation--Martin really is just happy to have someone here with him, at the end of humanity, to not be alone in that closet in the dark, hungry and hoping, deep down, that any second the door would open to light and relieved tears. 

“I’m here,” Jon says, softly, reaching a hand up and brushing his thumb along Martin’s cheekbone. As if he really believes that it’s reassuring to be trapped in the closet with a monster and think that's better than loneliness. “I’ll always be here. For you. I’m not going to leave you.”

Martin leans into Jon’s touch and reaches up to hold his hand there. “Alright,” he whispers. “Good.”

“I don’t know...I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I won’t let you be alone again.”

“Me neither,” Martin says, squeezing Jon’s hand. “Alright? I’m right here. I know you get stuck in your head, but I’m here.”

“I know,” Jon says, pulling Martin’s head down to rest on his and closing his eyes. They just breathe together for a moment, drifting in and out of sync. 

“You’re not a monster, Jon,” Martin says, softly. His breath smells like toothpaste this close, and a swell of love explodes in Jon’s heart, that he’s fallen for the kind of man who still brushes his teeth regularly in the apocalypse. “I know you think you are.”

“Martin--”

“And if you  _ are _ a monster, I don’t care, because you’re mine.”

Jon can’t say anything to that, just squeezes his eyes shut tighter and leans his head into Martin’s chest. Martin holds him there and kisses the top of his head.

“I love you,” Jon says, finally, recovering, and Martin kisses his head again.

“I know,” Martin says, voice still soft, but he snorts a little after he says it.

“...really?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve always wanted to, I’m sorry,” Martin says, laughing and making Jon’s head bounce against him. “I love you too.”

“I wish I could tell you everything’s going to be alright, in the end,” Jon says, and Martin sighs, stroking Jon’s hair.

“It just has to  _ be _ ,” Martin says. “That’s enough for me right now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3  
> find me on tumblr at witnesstotheend!


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